Gossett said, "There's plenty o' water at this side of the entrance, sir."
"Yes." Bolitho had already noted that the anchored ships were closer to the other headland, whereas the nearest two-decker was some three cables from the overhanging cliffs which were already bathed in bright sunlight.
Gascoigne yelled, "Indomitable's signalling Abdiel, sir!" He climbed frantically up three more ratlines and then said, "I can't read the hoist, sir! Hermes is blocking my view!"
Inch said, "Abdiel's acknowledged, sir, so we shall see."
Bolitho looked at him gravely. It was the way men could discuss the business of tactics and signals, when by nightfall they could all be dead.
The Abdiel shortened and then lengthened again, as with sails flapping and billowing from her yards she went about and headed for the rear of the French line.
Some of the seamen below the quarterdeck started to cheer her, although it was more to relieve tension than with any hope of reaching the frail frigate.
Bolitho watched in silence. So Pelham-Martin was sending Abdiel in first.
Carried faintly on the wind he heard a trumpet, and as be shaded his eyes against the mounting glare he saw the French ships opening their ports. It was both unhurried and well timed, so that as the double lines of gun muzzles trundled into view it seemed as if one man's hand was in control. A puff of smoke drifted above the Abdiel's bows, followed seconds later by the jarring crash of the shot. A ranging ball, or just sheer high spirits, it was hard to tell. Maybe Abdiel's captain was just loosing off a shot to break the tension. It was a pity that for the second time the lot of closing the enemy was going to Captain Pring and not Farquhar. The Spartan had not been found by the searching sloops, or at least had not yet arrived. Maybe Farquhar had troubles of his own, but just now Bolitho would have wished him in the van rather than Pring. The latter was keen enough, but seemed to lack Farquhar's cold self-control.
More smoke, and this time a ragged broadside, the balls throwing up thin waterspouts abeam of the last French ship, which Bolitho could now recognise as the one he had crippled at St. Kruis. Without a glass he could clearly see the gaping holes in her-bulwark and the crude jury. rig replacing her severed mizzen.
Gaseoign called, "General signal, sir! The commodore intends to pass astern the enemy's line to obtain the weathergage!"
"You may load and run out, Mr. Inch." Bolitho stepped clear of the sudden activity around the quarterdeck guns as the order was passed, and strode to the poop ladder. By standing a few steps above the deck he could see the Indomitable's larboard tumblehome cutting across the rearmost Frenchman. In another two cables Pelham-Martin would cross her stem and then lead the line round and parallel with the anchored ships. The French gunners would not only have the sun in their eyes, but also be deluged with smoke once the firing began.
Overhead the topsails flapped loudly and then refilled to the wind. So close to land it was difficult to keep them drawing well, and Bolitho watched with satisfaction as Tomlin's men manned the braces in readiness for the next order.
Inch touched his hat. "Larboard battery loaded and run out, sir!" In spite of the distant bangs from Abdiel's guns he seemed relaxed and vaguely cheerful. "They knocked a few minutes off their time, too!"
Bolitho saw the Hermes lifting uneasily to some offshore current, and noted that she, too, had run out her larboard battery ready to engage.
He said slowly, "Now the starboard guns, Mr. Inch." He gripped the teak rail as through the criss-cross of rigging he saw the Abdiel's shape shorten until she was stem on, yards braced round to seize the wind, her scarlet ensign streaming from the gaff like a sheet of painted metal.
Inch had been with Bolitho long enough not to question his orders, and as his men faltered, off guard, he cupped his hands and yelled, "Load and run out, you idlers! Petty Officer, take that man's name!"
It had the desired effect, and with squeaking trucks the guns lumbered towards the ports, the seamen skidding on the damp planking as the heavy cannon took charge and rolled down the canting deck. Below on the lower gundeck the ports might be nearly awash as the ship leaned dutifully to the wind, but Bolitho breathed more easily. It was going well, but perhaps too well.
He looked at Inch and shrugged. "It is always prudent to be prepared."
Someone aboard the Hermes had apparently found time to drag his eyes from the enemy ships, for seconds later her starboard port lids opened and here and there a gun muzzle poked out, like hastily awakened beasts sniffing the air.
Inch grinned. "That caught 'em, sir!"
One of Indomitable's bow-chasers fired, the flash masked by the ships astern of her, and Bolitho swung round to watch as the ball ricocheted across the cruising
ranks of white horses before ploughing close to the sternmost Frenchman. There was more cheering, – and from one of the ships-Bolitho thought it was the Telamon-came the sounds of drums and fifes.
"Deck there! Abdiel's under fire!"
The masthead lookout's cry was drowned by the ragged crash of cannon fire, and as Bolitho ran to the rail snatching a glass from a startled midshipman, he saw the frigate's hull surrounded by leaping waterspouts.
Inch yelled, "The French must have some stern-chasers out!"
But Bolitho dragged him from the nettings. "Look, man! Those balls are coming from the land to starboard!" He winced as the Abdiel's foremast toppled sideways and plunged towards the deck, and even as he watched he saw her sails quiver as more balls slammed through shrouds and canvas alike, so that the sea around her seemed alive with splintered woodwork and whirling pieces of debris.
Bolitho gritted his teeth. It was a trap, just as he had half feared, half expected. Abdiel was being pounded by several guns at once, the hidden marksmen unhampered by movement or range as they fired again and again at the ship which must be lying below and right across their sights.
"Pring's trying to go about!" Inch was almost weeping with anguish as the Abdiel's mizzen lurched and hung suspended in the tangle of rigging before falling across her quarterdeck, the sound carrying even above the gunfire.
Gascoigne shouted wildly, "General signal! Tack in succession!"
The Indomitable was already turning very slowly to larboard, her jib boom pointing towards the poop of the sternmost French ship as she wallowed round into the face of the wind. For an instant she appeared to be all aback, but as more men ran to the braces she staggered across the short steep waves, her topsails flapping and lifting madly as if to tear themselves from the yards.
Bolitho yelled, "Stand by, Mr. Gossett!" He watched sickened as the moored Frenchman fired a controlled broadside, the paired line of orange tongues licking from her hull as she slammed her double-shotted salvo into the Indomitable's side where the ports still showed shut and useless.
Bolitho raised his hand, his eyes moving swiftly above the crouched gunners, shutting the sounds of splintering timber from his ears, concentrating his full being on the ships ahead of him. No wonder the enemy had waited so patiently and confidently. Instead of receiving a controlled line of ships across their rear they were now faced with something approaching chaos. Indomitable was swinging ponderously across the wind, her jib blowing in ribbons, her foretopmast and main topgallant dangling amidst her littered rigging like savaged trees. She had still not run out her other guns, and Bolitho could imagine the slaughter of that first broadside. Now the next ship was firing, and the sea around Pelham-Martin's flagship was boiling with white spray and falling wreckage.
A voice cried, "Oh, God, Abdiel's ablaze!"
Bolitho tore his eyes from the Hermes' high counter and turned in time to see the frigate broaching to, her sails and forward rigging burning like tinder, the blaze leaping from spar to spar, while small, pitiful figures dropped from the rigging like dead fruit to fall alongside or on to the deck itself.